


You're Not Broken

by nightfuryy



Series: Nonbinary!Jaskier [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Crying, Depression, Dysphoria, Gen, Genderfluid Jaskier, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier probably has PTSD, Nonbinary Jaskier, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Self-Harm, minor internalized transphobia, seriously a lot of tears, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22814047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfuryy/pseuds/nightfuryy
Summary: Jaskier struggles with depression and dysphoria and Geralt is there to help.And your dearest author is really bad at summaries.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Nonbinary!Jaskier [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642096
Comments: 19
Kudos: 292





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fic and I hope you lovely readers enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! It's also unbeta'd, so I hope I found all spelling/grammar mistakes.

Jaskier stared at the fire as the flames licked the black of the night and illuminated the small campsite Geralt and himself had set up a few hours earlier. Every once in a while, an ember would catch the breeze that fluttered through the forest in random bouts and float upward before losing its glow and disappearing into the night. The log he sat on was damp and cold, the feeling traveling into his bottom, but he didn’t mind these details that night. Jaskier’s gaze went straight past the fire he appeared to be watching. His face relaxed, not tensed into a frown or uplifted from a smile, though the empty look in his eyes gave the only hint of expression on his face. It was a look that said Jaskier wasn’t lost in thought, but lost in nothing at all. Unfortunately, as life made it out to be, Jaskier was no stranger to this wretched state, but this night was doubly screwing him over for lack of a better word. The empty nothingness he felt was coated in a thick, sticky layer of shit that made him want to pull his skin off, made him feel restless and unbelievably unable to move at the same time. Jaskier was no stranger to this feeling either. It haunted him less often, but it was a hell of a lot harder to shake.

“You’re too quiet.”

Geralt’s deep, gravelly voice broke Jasker out of his mind, but his reaction to Geralt’s words was slow and Jaskier’s attention came in fragments. He tilted his head in the direction of Geralt, although it took a few seconds more for Jaskier’s eyes to follow and even longer for his blue eyes to come back to reality and truly focus on the source of the sound. “Hmm?” Jaskier asked as Geralt’s words began to register in his mind. If he had been of sounder mind, he would have noticed the frown Geralt already wore increase the slightest at Jaskier’s response.

“I’m going to go use the bathroom,” Jaskier mumbled, trying but miserably failing to include some shred of his usual cheer and enthusiasm in his voice. He plastered on a fake smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and forced himself to his feet. The only response Jaskier received was Geralt’s signature grunt, which he hoped meant that Geralt was dropping the subject. Geralt’s grunt, however, more than likely meant he was thinking about Jaskier’s odd behavior, which Jaskier was well aware of, but he could only hope. Jaskier knew the witcher well enough to easily decipher the limited speech and grunts Geralt usually spoke with.

Avoiding eye contact, he walked carefully around the fire before leaving the temporary campsite. The breeze picked up again for a moment as Jaskier passed Geralt. It ran through Jaskier’s hair awkwardly, pushing his hair down and off to either side if his face instead of wildly up like a stronger gust of wind would. For a moment, Jaskier wondered if depression had a scent like other illnesses did. The thought of that sent fear straight to the pit of Jaskier’s stomach and the bard knew that was a scent the witcher could pick up with ease. He shoved the feeling down, though, as he tried to encourage his mildly displaced hair back into its spot. Jaskier pretended he couldn’t feel Geralt’s golden, cat-eyed frown boring into his back with concern.

After finding a spot Jaskier judged to be sufficiently far from the witcher, but not so far that Geralt would feel like Jaskier was taking too long and come look for him, the bard sat down, leaning against a large tree. His already damp pants got wetter, colder, and dirtier as he sat down on the forest floor, but he paid no mind to it. That sort of uncomfortable was well behind what Jaskier was trying to fix at the moment; damp, dirty clothes were the least of his concern.

Jaskier brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs to hold himself in a ball. Bringing his chin to rest on his knees, the bard started to rock back and forth. He squeezed himself into a tighter ball and switched to resting his forehead against his knees to hide his fact. He took in a deep, shaky breath that grew even shakier as it was let out. Tears escaped Jaskier's eyes, despite his best attempts at not crying. Silent sobs shook his entire body.

Tears blurred Jaskier’s vision when he finally looked up, not that he could see much in the dark in the first place. He took in another wet, shaky breath and tilted his head upward. There was a gap in the canopy of trees that usually blocked the sky. Stars streaked across the sky, the build up of liquid in Jaskier’s eyes distorting them.

Jaskier wiped his eyes and cheeks, clearing the tears that had yet to fall and the tears that had already fallen. The stars returned to their normal shapes and sizes and Jaskier became aware of the tingling in his teeth, a feeling the bard was familiar with after calming down from a break down. He let his head fall back against the tree as his fingers started to fiddle with the handle of a dagger he kept on himself at all times. It wasn’t a large weapon, but it was plenty for Jaskier to work with should the need to use it arise. Geralt had helped him develop his skills with the weapon, though Jaskier had enough skill to defend himself without the help of his witcher. Jaskier gently unsheathed the piece of metal and watched the moonlight dance on it. The plan was to teach Jaskier how to use a sword at some point. He doubted Geralt would let him use any sort of weapon if he knew what the bard was up to at the moment.

The frown marring Jaskier’s features grew as he shoved his sleeve up and dragged the glinting metal across the area right below his inner elbow. Jaskier’s frown eased as he did so and repeated the action three times, leaving three neat red lines on his pale skin. Blood started to drop down his arm, but the bard only watched it happen. He enjoyed the sight of his own blood welling from his wounds. It was a new feeling for Jaskier. Usually he had subtler ways of harming himself that only left temporary marks, but Jaskier hadn’t even given into the urge in a very long time. But Jaskier also hadn’t had a night like this night in a while. Jaskier hadn’t felt this amount of pain in a very long time.

Another small breeze picked up, not even strong enough to pick up leaves. It didn’t even make a sound, but it was blowing straight toward the makeshift camp Jaskier and Geralt had set up. Jaskier’s eyes grew wide and dread that felt like it weighed a ton dropped in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t even thought of how he was going to hide the scent of blood when he got back to their camp, but the breeze had decided Jaskier needed significantly less time to think of an excuse. Geralt was probably already worried with how long Jasker was taking, he realized, but the witcher smelling blood meant said witcher would be at Jaskier’s side in no more than a couple minutes. The bard knew Geralt pretended not to care sometimes, but he also knew Geralt and him had grown close and that Geralt would protect Jaskier at the cost of his life.

“Fuck,” Jasker muttered as a sudden wave of nausea rolled violently through his body.


	2. Chapter 2

No, no. Ohhhh no, no no. Geralt couldn’t find out. Geralt could not find out. If Geralt saw what Jaskier had done, his companion would call him a coward and leave the bard to die in the forest on his own. If that didn’t happen, the witcher would question him and if Geralt found out Jaskier’s secret, he would leave Jaskier then. Geralt would think Jaskier was a broken freak. That’s what his own parents had thought. Surely the rest of the world was no different. Geralt was going to leave Jaskier or just up and kill him right there. And that was when Jaskier’s stomach revolted against him, forcing the contents of their dinner back up. Tasting it for the second time wasn’t nearly as good as it was the first.

Jaskier threw up until his stomach was empty and when that happened, his body just resorted to dry heaving. He was on his hands and knees, his whole body shaking. New tears were streaming down his face, this time from panic, and he didn’t bother silencing the sobs that wracked his entire frame. The bard felt like he could barely breathe which only served to increase his panic. Although already borderline hyperventilating, Jaskier’s breathing grew even heavier and faster through his loud sobbing and dry heaving.

The soft thud of Geralt’s sword hitting the ground and a gruff “fuck” barely registered in Jaskier’s ears. He only realized the witcher was crouching next to him when Jaskier felt a large hand rubbing circles on his back. Geralt’s other arm was circled around him to prevent the panicking bard from collapsing in his own vomit.

“Easy, Jas,” Geralt did his best to soothe him. “Jaskier, you need to breathe.” He kept his voice low and calm. Geralt had helped Jaskier through many nightmares in their travels together and knew how to calm him down. Most of the nightmares that plagued Jaskier were about the bard’s childhood, but Geralt never knew that. Jaskier refused to tell him what any of his nightmares were about.

Geralt stayed where he was with his bard until he stopped dry heaving. Jaskier let Geralt maneuver both of them so Jaskier was sitting in Geralt’s lap, a common position for the two in the middle of the night after a nightmare. The bard felt Geralt’s arms around him, safe and secure and gentle. He knew he was okay in those arms. Jaskier leaned heavily into his friend’s chest as sobs continued to shake his body.

“There you go… Follow my breathing. You’re safe.” Geralt kept talking to Jaskier with gentle words of encouragement or small instructions. Jaskier only barely registered what was happening at the moment, but he knew he was with Geralt. As he calmed down to sniffling and minor shaking, though, Jaskier became more aware of the blood on his crossed arms. It was dripping down his bare arm and soaking through the sleeve of his other. He suddenly felt the urge to relieve his stomach of his dinner again, but there was nothing in there to be relieved of. Jaskier settled for going stiff in Geralt’s arms.

Despite Jaskier’s suddenly rigid form and clearly bleeding arm, Geralt let them stay like that for some time. It was probably for the better because if Geralt were to question Jasker now, the bard would only close up more and refuse to let his friend help him. Jaskier knew Geralt was well aware of the blood since his own human nose could pick up the irony stench of the red liquid that was currently ruining one of Jaskier’s shirts. He started to relax when he realized Geralt wasn’t going to mention it at the moment. That left Jaskier only to focus on steadying his shaky breathing.

“Let’s get back to camp.” Geralt finally broke the silence. He must have decided Jaskier was calm enough to start to address other problems because he added, “We have some medical supplies back there.”

Jaskier went rigid again which earned him a frown from Geralt. There was a slight tilt to the witcher’s head that indicated that this particular frown was not only from concern but confusion as well. Dealing with wounds had never been an issue with the bard as he regularly patched up Geralt and had no issue with getting patched up himself. With a quick glance down, Jaskier realized that his arms were still tightly crossed, covering the three lines he marked his arm with. Geralt was clueless. But he wouldn’t be clueless for much longer. Jaskier knew as soon as Geralt knew why he was bleeding, he was going to be short of a best friend.

Enjoying being close to Geralt one last time, Jaskier let him get them both to their feet and hold the bard close. They stood there for a moment and Jaskier could feel golden eyes on him, watching observantly to make sure he was okay. Apparently deeming the bard okay enough, Geralt started to walk them back to their small campsite. He kept Jaskier, whose arms were still crossed tight, tucked close to him under his own arm.

Once they got back to the campsite, Geralt sat Jaskier down on the log the bard had been sitting on before he left. It was considerably drier, though, having sat in front of the glowing fire for long enough. Jaskier hunched over himself as he sat down. His crossed arms pushed into his stomach in a vain attempt to get rid of the nausea that erupted in his gut again. Emptiness filled Jaskier as soon as Geralt moved away. The witcher had sat down with Jaskier to settle him on the log, but he had stood up and walked away without a word. He could feel the cold burning his side where Geralt had pressed against him.

Geralt returned, though. In his hands were a clean wet rag, supplies to stitch Jaskier up, bandages, and a salve that Jaskier didn’t bother paying that much attention to. If these were his last moments with his best friend, he didn’t care much about what salve Geralt was going to use on him. Or possibly not use when he learned what kind of wound was on Jaskier’s arm.

“Let me see,” the witcher said as softly as his gruff voice could manage. Geralt had sat next to Jaskier straddling the log and had set the things he was holding down between them. He kept the wet rag in his hand, though, to keep it from getting dirty.

Several seconds passed between Geralt’s gentle command and Jaskier’s reaction. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion for the bard. Everything seemed fuzzy around the edges and he felt like he was floating, but not the good kind of floating. There was something ill and disconnecting about this floating. Jaskier slowly and reluctantly released his vice like grip on his own arms and extended it out toward Geralt. He knew there was no use trying to disobey the witcher. The detaching floating feeling increased and Jaskier was sure Geralt could hear his heart practically drumming out of his chest.

Greatly to Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt just wiped the rag over the three lines. There wasn’t even a hesitation on Geralt’s part. By that point, some of the bleeding had stopped, most likely due to crossing his arms so tight, but Jaskier’s arm was coated in the sticky liquid. Geralt cleaned his arm, then started to stitch each cut closed. It stung, but the bard didn’t say anything. Finally, the witcher covered each line with the salve and wrapped the bandage neatly around the marred portion of his arm. No one said a word throughout the whole process.

There was no yelling. No roaring at Jaskier that he was a coward. No brutal skin on skin contact. Only the sound of crackling fire, the sound of the breeze flitting through the forest randomly, the sound of their breathing, and the soft touch of Geralt’s hands on Jaskier’s skin.


	3. Chapter 3

When Geralt was done, he got up once more to put away the medical supplies, but returned shortly after. He sat down where he had been sitting moments prior and pulled Jaskier close. Warm arms encircled the bard, drawing him up against Geralt’s chest, which Jaskier leaned happily into, or as close to that emotion as he could muster at the moment. The bard let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Jaskier wasn’t sure how long he’d been holding it either, but he let his head fall below Geralt’s chin. Geralt seemed to take the cue because he rested his chin on top of Jaskier’s head. A small squeeze of Geralt’s arms accompanied the action. One of Geralt’s hands started to rub up and down Jaskier’s arm as well.

Jaskier couldn’t place a word on how he felt at the moment. It could almost be described as tranquil, but tranquil sounded too happy. Everything he had been feeling had left. The bad feelings were hiding… like a bear hibernating for the winter. They were there but not there. Anything good was just absent. The tingling returned, too, but it spread to his arms and legs as well.

“If you’re ever in so much pain that you feel the need to hurt yourself, you need to talk to me Jaskier,” Geralt finally broke the silence. One of his hands made their way up to Jaskier’s soft brown hair and started to massage his scalp. He got no response from the bard, but Geralt decided to keep talking. “Or at the very least just come to me. I’ll sit with you for as long as you need whenever you need and we don’t have to talk. It doesn’t have to be just after a nightmare, Jas. I’ve seen what this does to people. I don’t want it to turn out that way for you, too…”

Several minutes passed before Jaskier gave any sort of response. It might have been longer, but he wasn’t sure. He had listened to Geralt. He just couldn’t gather any energy or will to show so, but after whatever amount of time had passed, Jaskier gave a small nod.

They stayed there for what had to have been at least an hour more. When Jaskier finally moved, his body ached from the cold sitting in his unmoving joints and muscles for so long. He carefully stretched himself around in Geralt’s grip, trying to relieve the soreness, and blinked several times, bringing focus back to his vision. His movement earned a ‘hmm’ from his witcher and the arms that encircled him started to loosen. Jaskier couldn’t help the slight panic that flared in his chest, but calmed back down as Geralt’s arms settled securely back around him. Geralt must have heard the bard’s heartbeat increase when he moved his arms away.

“I wasn’t letting you go,” Geralt murmerred. “I was only letting you stretch.” Had that been any other sound, it would have grated on Jaskier’s ears and cause him to curl in on himself even more. But Geralt’s voice was different. Geralt’s voice was safe and despite what anyone else thought, it was warm and soft. The witcher’s voice was hard and cold, Jaskier knew this, but that was his whole natural exterior that he didn’t really pay attention to anymore. Jaskier could recognize everything underneath it now. Living with a man who barely spoke, he had to get good at deciphering every other clue Geralt gave to what he was actually saying and feeling, not just look at Geralt’s exterior. He snuggled closer into the witcher’s chest.

Geralt continued, “We should get to sleep.”

Jaskier let those words sink in for a couple minutes before nodding again. He still couldn’t bring himself to actually say anything. He didn’t have the energy or will to form words yet and he knew his own voice would be one of those sounds that would grate on his ears.

“I’ll be back in less than a minute,” the witcher said. Geralt slowly let go of Jaskier and walked over to the other side of the diminishing fire that hadn’t been tended to since Jaskier had left. There Geralt had placed the bed rolls just close enough to the fire so they’d be warm by the time they were ready to be used. He leaned down to grab them, then walked back over to Jaskier where the witcher laid them down right next to each other. Geralt then put out the rest of the fire.

As soon as Geralt moved away from Jaskier, the bard started to curl in on himself. The nausea that had ebbed away came back almost instantly and his heart started to hammer in his chest again. Jaskier did his best to stay calm, but he started to panic about panicking which only served to increase the nausea that was threatening his stomach for what felt like the thousandth time that night. He was appreciative of the breeze for the first time that night, though, as it floated through their small campsite once more. It caused him to shiver, but he didn’t care. The cold helped calm his stomach.

“Sleep sitting up…” Jaskier managed to utter the shaky words from his mouth. They were almost inaudible and abrasive to his own ears, but he was mostly sure Geralt could hear them. If Geralt didn’t he must have gotten the idea when he turned around from putting the fire out and saw how pale Jaskier had assuredly grown because he moved both of the bed rolls to be up against a tree they could lean against. Geralt has had to sleep with Jaskier sitting up many times after the bard’s nightmares. When Jaskier was nauseous, sleeping on his side drastically increased his nausea.

After everything was set and safe for them to go to sleep, Geralt sat down on his bedroll with his back up against the thick oak tree. He looked expectantly at Jaskier, although there was patience resting behind his golden eyes.

Jaskier sat there for a moment, at first glancing at Geralt’s eyes, then quickly shifted his gaze down to stare blankly at his well muscled chest. It took a few moments to work up the energy to move, but he finally got to his feet and walked over. The process was slow and Jaskier was shaking the whole time. He could feel Geralt’s gaze watching him from where he sat, making sure the bard didn’t fall and hurt himself.

Eventually, Jaskier made it safely to the witcher’s side. Said witcher wrapped his arm around the bard, holding him close, as Jaskier pillowed his head on Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt reached over with his other arm to pull Jaskier’s legs across his lap.

“You can go to sleep now, little lark,” Geralt almost whispered. He left his hand on Jaskier’s thigh and started rubbing his thumb gently back and forth.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier wasn’t sure how long it took him to go to sleep, but the next thing he remembered was waking up to sun filtering through the trees and a beam of light singling out his eyes, shining directly into them. He grumbled, irritated at his awakening and turned himself to shove his scrunched face into Geralt’s shoulder. That must have amused Geralt because he felt and heard the familiar rumbling coming from his chest as it shook mildly.

“Is something funny?” Jaskier whined into Geralt’s shoulder. No response, but he could practically feel an amused grin boring into his head. “Because I find nothing funny about this! Quite a rude way to be woken up. The least you could have done was covered my face.” He sat up to give his best glare in the witcher’s direction. The glare clearly had no effect on Geralt, but that had never deterred Jaskier before. Now wasn’t going to be any different.

The witcher’s gaze softened, though, then turned more serious as he asked, “Are you feeling any better today?” Geralt’s arms slipped off of Jaskier to let the bard sit back so they could speak.

Jaskier pushed himself up with his arms to shift himself to face Geralt. He crossed his legs next to Geralt’s outstretched legs that were crossed at his ankles. “I’m better,” he looked down at his hands in his lap that started picking at the skin around his nails. It wasn’t a lie. In fact he had been feeling much better until Geralt reminded him. Now he just felt… less better.

“I’m here, Jaskier,” Geralt firmly, but still kindly. “Promise me you will never do this to yourself again.” He carefully reached out for Jaskier’s arm and ran his thumb over the bandages. “Have you done this before?”

A nod was given in response to everything. “I’ve never cut myself before, though,” Jaskier clarified. “I’ve just done… other things.” He felt like a scolded child even though he knew now that Geralt wasn’t mad or disgusted with him. If he was either of those things, the witcher would make it obvious. Jaskier was acutely aware of the sticky wrongness that coated his insides now, though. His gaze stayed on his hands. They were one of the few things that didn’t bother him when he was feeling dysphoric. They were just the right combination of femanine and masculine that his hands fit no matter how he was feeling. Jaskier couldn’t help the faintest upturn at the corners of his mouth and the small bit of warmth that budded in his chest as he watched his hands. It wasn’t much and it didn’t get rid of the horrendous feeling he had to endure, but it was something to just focus on the femanine qualities of his hands.

“What’s on your mind, Jas?” Geralt questioned, breaking the bard out of his thoughts. He was wearing a frown again, but Jaskier knew that this one meant curiosity and that Geralt’s ears were open.

Jaskier opened his mouth to start, then stopped with a frown. He was about to tell the witcher it was nothing, but he knew Geralt knew better. Instead, he settled for half of the truth. “I don’t know… I’m just… sad sometimes,” he shrugged.

“No,” Geralt said. “This is different— Jaskier you’re terrible at hiding your emotions. Don’t look at me like that. I know you’ve got shit in your head. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think you are.” The frown he wore morphed a little bit, but the underlying curiosity still remained. It told Jaskier to cut the shit. Left less chance of him being able to bullshit his way out of this. “But I haven’t seen this yet in you. It’s different in your eyes, in your scent, your body language.”

“It’s nothing,” he almost growled.

“Jaskier.”

“I’m not talking about it Geralt.”

“Jask-”

“My own fucking parents kicked me out for it!” Jaskier snapped. “I’m not gonna tell you because you’re going to think I’m a sad broken excuse for a human being that can’t be fixed just like my family thinks!” Jaskier was looking directly at Geralt now. Tears streamed down his red face. He tried to yell some more, but only succeeded in spitting out gibberish, words broken by sobs. He eventually gave up trying to yell and gave in completely to crying. Warm hands reached out and pulled Jaskier close again. The bard let it happen and climbed over to sit on Geralt’s lap so he was facing him and straddling his thighs. One of those warm hands held him close while the other rubbed up and down his back. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s thick torso and let himself bawl into his shoulder.

A few days passed by the time they reached the next town. Not once did Geralt mention anything about Jaskier’s meltdown for which the bard was thankful for. Things had gone back to normal for the most part as well. Jaskier went back to his usual cheerful self and had practiced several of his songs as they walked. When he wasn’t singing he was smiling and talking to Geralt. He still felt wrong, and he wasn’t sure how long he would feel like this, but it was easier to handle when depression wasn’t added onto it. Jaskier still didn’t have a word for what he felt. Whatever it was comes and goes at random times for random lengths of time and it was different each time.

Jaskier was sitting in their room at the inn they arrived at the night before. Geralt had left hours earlier when the sun was just barely showing itself over the trees and Jaskier had still been asleep, so the bard was completely alone in the small room. Somewhere in there, Jaskier had found a mirror and was now sitting on the edge of the single bed with the mirror in one hand and his other hand carefully painting red onto his lips. It wasn’t a bright red, but a dark wine color. He had already emphasized his blue eyes with a thin stripe of eyeliner.

Once he finished his makeup and strategically placed some buttercups in his hair that he had found on the side of the road, Jaskier admired himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help the wide smile that cracked across his lips as warmth spread across his chest and melted the sticky feeling. Jaskier sat there for a moment just staring at himself completely contempt and happy and the bard didn’t realize he forgot how that feeling actually felt. He felt right.

The happiness was short lived, though, when Jaskier realized Geralt would be back soon. A sigh escaped his wine colored lips and Jaskier could feel himself deflate with it. All good things must come to an end, Jaskier supposed. He set the mirror down and started to shove all of his makeup supplies back into the depths of his bag where he kept them hidden. Jaskier also pulled out a cloth to clean his face off with and set it on the edge of the bed. His actions were listless from reluctance.

Another sigh came from the bard as he gazed into the mirror one last time. A sad smile crossed his features this time. It pulled up at the corners of his painted lips a little bit, but it didn’t reach his dull eyes. The flowers in his silky brown hair almost looked wilted, too, when they had looked fine just minutes before.

Right as Jaskier was reaching for the cloth he had pulled from his bag, he heard the familiar creaking of the door being pushed open. Jaskier’s stomach dropped. He still sat on the edge of the bed, directly facing the door. Frozen, the bard didn’t dare look up, but he could smell the unfortunately familiar stench of monster guts, indicating that it was most definitely Geralt that had opened the door.

Jaskier waited for the yelling to start. He waited for the pain to come as Geralt would grab his neck and throw him on the floor and start beating him to death. For Geralt to call him the same names his family had called him. But that didn’t happen.


	5. Chapter 5

Geralt raised a gut covered eyebrow the slightest bit, but only walked further into the room and closed the door. He opened the mouth to speak and Jaskier braced himself for the world of hurt that was about to come crashing down on him. But the witcher’s mouth closed. Geralt walked over to Jaskier and crouched down in front of him so he could look up at the bard’s downward gaze. He carefully and slowly grabbed the mirror and rag from Jaskier’s hands and set them down on the edge of the bed then placed his hand on Jaskier’s knee. Jaskier flinched in response.

“You’re afraid,” Geralt stated, looking into blue eyes that looked anywhere but at the color gold. When he didn’t get an answer, he kept talking. “C’mon. I ordered a bath and I need help getting this shit off of me.” He stood up and walked toward the bathroom, but stopped halfway to make sure Jaskier was following him.

The bard was still sitting down staring a hole in the floor, but when he heard Geralt’s surprisingly light footsteps stop, he forced himself to his feet. It felt like Jaskier had lead weights strapped to his ankles and wrists. A gruff comment stopped him in his tracks, though. Jaskier looked up at Geralt with a smile that quivered as he tried to hold back tears, tears of complete happiness. The only word Jaskier could use to describe anything at that moment was utter euphoria. Not only did those words show that Geralt really didn’t care, but they caused another small piece of warmth that melted some of the sticky feeling.

Those words had been, “You look pretty.” And Jaskier had almost missed them since they were so quiet. They were shortly followed by, “You’re going to smudge your work if you cry.”

Jaskier could see a small smile work its way onto Geralt’s features and Geralt’s smile’s were infectious. He wiped the tears away from his eyes, careful not to smudge his eyeliner, and let his watery smile turn to his usual cheerful smile. His feet started to function again and with more enthusiasm than seconds earlier, Jaskier followed Geralt into the bathroom.

“Oh!” Jaskier suddenly stopped in his tracks again. “Let me get my stuff!” He spun on his heels and ran back to his bag that was still sitting on the bed. Or ran as much as he could in the limited space of the room. Jaskier hurried back to the bathroom where Geralt was already sitting in the tub, tossed his bag on the ground next to the tub, and pulled up a stool. He dug through his bag for some of the oils and soaps with milder scents he knew Geralt liked. Jaskier knew the witcher would never admit that he liked the smells, but Jaskier could see right through him. The bard quickly set to work, starting to hum one of his songs.

Midway through working the grime out of Geralt’s hair, the tune Jaskier had been humming faded off into silence, although he didn’t realize it. At first, the bard had been completely content falling back into their normal routine, but Jaskier’s brain couldn’t help but wander back to what happened earlier. Jaskier’s relaxed brow started to furrow a little bit as he tried to work up the courage to ask Geralt about what he was thinking. The witcher must have decided Jaskier had enough courage, though, because…

“You think too loud.”

“You tell me that quite regularly, you know,” Jaskier said, avoiding bringing up the topic of his thoughts for a few seconds longer. A glance from Geralt over his shoulder told him that he couldn’t put the subject off any more, though. He had stopped working through the witcher’s hair for the moment, but continued again, urging Geralt to turn his head back around. “...This really doesn’t bother you?” Jaskier asked after a couple more seconds of silence.

Geralt turned almost completely around this time to look at Jaskier. He looked at the bard like he was crazy. “Jaskier, I’m a witcher. You know how humans feel about my kind, but you decided you didn’t care. You deserve no less from me or the rest of the world. I’ve seen a lot of stuff in my years, Jas. And I’ve met people like you.”

“You don’t think I’m broken?” Jaskier had glanced down during Geralt’s small speech, albeit lengthy for the witcher, but forced himself to meet Geralt’s pinning gaze.

“No,” Geralt said firmly. “If anyone’s broken, it’s the rest of humanity.”

Jaskier nodded, then whispered, “I don’t know what I am.” He paused for a moment to watch Geralt’s reaction, but the witcher only sat there, patiently waiting for Jaskier to continue. “Most of the time, I feel like just a regular guy. Other times I feel like I’m not anything. Or like I’m both. Sometimes an even mix, sometimes more like a guy, or sometimes more like a girl. Very rarely, I just want to be a girl, but that’s few and far between.”

It was Geralt’s turn to nod. He reached out, placing his large wet hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck. The witcher paused as Jaskier flinched at the contact, but the bard gave him the slightest ‘okay’ nod, so he continued and gently guided their heads together until their foreheads touched. “I’d never hurt you Jaskier.”

“I know.”

They stayed like that for an indiscernible amount of time before they both pulled away from each other. Jaskier had a small smile resting on his still dark lips and Geralt had what Jaskier would dare describe as the most loving look he’s ever seen from the witcher.

“I need to finish washing you up,” Jaskier finally broke the silence, wrinkling his nose. “You still smell terrible, my dearest friend." That earned the bard a glare, but Jaskier brushed it off with a cheeky grin and said, “Turn around.”

Geralt grunted, but did as he was told. He relaxed back into Jaskier’s hands as they started to work through his silver hair again and massage his scalp. A thought crossed his mind, though, as the bard started to hum again.

“Jaskier?”

“Yes Geralt?”

“Tell me how you’re feeling. Whenever it changes, tell me. And I’ll try my best to help you feel how you… feel.”

“Thank you Geralt.”

“Hmm.”


End file.
